Searching for help
It’s heartbreaking that T.J. was identified as needing services early on, but then likely fell through the cracks during such a critical stage. This shows how a lack of follow-through—whether from missing records or poor coordination—can have lifelong consequences for a child. What’s especially frustrating is that there were systems in place, yet they still failed him. It makes me question how many other kids are being left behind without anyone noticing.
n the meantime, for students across the spectrum of disability, navigating the system can be adraining battle. “We find that families of students with a range of needs struggle to get the evaluationsand services that their children need,” said Randi Levine, policy director of Advocates for Children ofAs happens with many children in special education, T.J. frequently did not get services that were recommended, anddeadlines to re-evaluate him came and went. Elizabeth D. Herman for The New York TimesAt 12, He Reads at a First-Grade Level: How New York Failed T.J. - T... https://www.nytimes.com/2018/10/05/nyregion/how-special-education-i...2 of 11 11/4/22, 7:32 PM
This part reveals how even with funding and systems in place, bureaucracy and technical failure can still prevent students from receiving the support they need. It’s especially frustrating to see how statistics like on-time graduation rates show just how far behind students with disabilities are. Promises of reform sound good, but for families, the day-to-day experience is still exhausting and
So T.J.’s mother, Kerrin, called the pediatrician and asked what she could do. (T.J. and his familymembers are being identified by their middle names or initials to protect his privacy.) That call beganT.J.’s troubled journey through the labyrinthine bureaucracy of New York City’s special educationsystem. A decade later, T.J. is a friendly 12-year-old boy with a generous smile. He giggles whilewatching cartoons, always says “plea
This example shows how a child’s educational challenges are often less about ability and more about how the system responds. T.J.’s story is heartbreaking—not because of who he is, but because of how little progress was made after years in a system that should have supported him. It raises real concerns about whether special education is truly helping or just creating more barriers.
ydia and I have felt the pain of those labels, of that kind of separation. While her rights to education have been upheld, perhaps, Lydia has been put into categories based on the current definition of her disability, and then separated out (i.e., grouped with other children with perceived special needs) as often as the school/district/Committee on Special Education (CSE) has been able to get away with it. H
This entire narrative is heartbreaking but incredibly important. It shows how the education system, while claiming to offer inclusion, often reinforces exclusion through subtle and overt ways—like labeling, isolation, and lack of real support. What struck me most is that Lydia’s pain doesn’t just come from her disability, but from how the system chooses to respond to it. The author’s daily balancing act as a mother, educator, and advocate is a reminder that “difference” is often made harder by structures, not by the person themselves.
The story I tell is both of ours, but for now I am the one telling it. In the near future, as Lydia's awareness and ability to tell her life grows, I want her voice to be heard more clearly. Rather than me speaking and writing about her, I hope we will speak and write together. What we can learn about difference by attending to both the child with disabilities and her mother should move us away from the notion that the child is necessarily an "other" to the mother...or vice versa. We need to hear both voices; they need to hear each other; and each must be believed if "difference" is to make a difference
I really appreciate how this part emphasizes the importance of shared voice and mutual recognition. The idea that the mother and daughter are not separate but deeply connected challenges the way we usually frame difference as distance. It reminds me that to truly understand difference, we have to listen to multiple perspectives—not just about someone, but with them.
In this paper I want to trouble — in two senses — the identity that bends Lydia and me over backward, the identity that positions her so painfully. That is, I am troubled by the identity that is ascribed to her, and I also want to challenge or trouble the ascription of the identity. Those who are labeled are reduced, as signifiers become identities; there's always more — they're always more (Ayers, 1996). Although obviously personal and idiosyncratic, I hope her/our experiences will resonate with others attempting to deal with similar positions — both those who share similar identity positions as well as educators who are working with those in her position. I situate my exploration in the view that distinctive ways of knowing arise out of and are tested against her lived, everyday experiences, and draw on my life story as a (single) mother and teacher educator/scholar to give "testimony" or "bear witness" (Burdell & Swadener, 1999) to her/our ongoing struggles with a society that exacts a steep toll on those who are "different." Based on my daughter's and my struggles with our "profoundly interrelated lives" (Hillyer, 1993, p. 105), I will raise some issues to ponder, and identify some implications of her/our situation. I end with recommendations for personal, educational, and societal policies and practices that would be less painful and limiting, and more inclusive, supportive, and ultimately democratic. Through auto-ethnography, I am, then, attempting to re-write the self and the social (Reed-Danahay, 1997). Greene (1998) writes about the power of the human experience to concretely and powerfully convey the depth and effects of social injustice; I hope her/our story in some small way does this.
This narrative struck me because it blends personal experience with social critique in such a powerful way. The idea of being “bent over backward” by an imposed identity is deeply moving. It shows how labeling doesn't just affect how others see you—it shapes your lived experience. I also admire how the author uses her own life to challenge dominant narratives and create space for new ways of seeing difference—not as deficiency, but as deeply human.
In this paper I draw on my life story as a teacher educator and the mother of a daughter with disabilities to trouble the identity that positions and labels her as, first and foremost in U.S. school settings, a "child with special needs." Drawing on a brief snippet from our profoundly interrelated lives (Hillyer, 1993), I argue that educators must reconsider the positioning of children who differ from the "norm," and stop labeling, and hence limiting, children. I end with recommendations for personal, educational, and societal policies and practices that would be less painful and limiting, and more inclusive, supportive, and ultimately democratic.
This builds on the earlier idea that labels can be limiting. What stood out to me is how schools often treat a diagnosis like a definition—as if once a child is labeled, that label becomes their whole identity. It reinforces the system’s tendency to focus on what students can’t do instead of what they can. A truly inclusive system would look at students as individuals, not categories.
Schools, like the rest of the social world, are structured by heterosexism-the assumption that everyone is and should be heterosexual (that such anassumption should have to be stated or even reinforced by policies indicatesthat everyone might not be heterosexual but they should be). Curricula, texts,and schools too often are constructed to reflect that heterosexuality is notonly the norm but also the only possible option for students. Heterosexismalso is reinforced by homophobia, overt expressions of dislike, harassment,and even assault of sexual minority people, a practice that members of theschool community often ignore or dismiss as typical behavior based on theheterosexist assumption that either there are no LGBTQ people present inschool communities or, if there are, those LGBTQ people ought to learnto expect a hostile environment. While homophobia possibly may be-atleast in some places-less socially acceptable today than it was previously,it is nonetheless the case that schools are not very supportive places formost LGBTQ, questioning, intersex, and ally students. The pressure to con-form to rigid ideas about proper gender and sexuality is also damaging toheterosexual and gender conforming students. Many students of all sexual52
This section really highlights how deeply heterosexism is built into school systems—not just in policies but in the curriculum and everyday assumptions. What stood out to me is that this pressure doesn’t just harm LGBTQ students; it also limits straight and gender-conforming students by forcing everyone into narrow roles. The idea that schools assume certain students “should” expect a hostile environment is especially disturbing.
Experiences of harassment, assault, or simply not seeing any representa-tion of LGBTQ lives in the curricula all contribute to negative school-basedexperiences. This chapter details recent studies and theoretical work on thehostile climate in schools, examines gaps in curricula, and discusses family-related issues that also challenge LGBTQ students or students with LGBTQparents. These may include a lack of role models in schools, discomfort withparental involvement, or, especially in the case of children with LGBTQ par-ents, difficult relations between school and family (Kosciw & Diaz, 2008).In keeping with our focus on the diversity of LGBTQ experiences, thischapter continues an analysis of the intersections of racial, gendered, andgender-identity-related violence, harassment, and alienation that students inpublic school and family settings experience.
This reminds me how representation in school isn't just symbolic—it has real emotional and psychological consequences. When LGBTQ students don’t see themselves reflected in the curriculum or feel unsafe in school environments, it impacts everything from learning to mental health. I also hadn’t thought much before about students with LGBTQ parents and the added challenges they face. This really shows how schools need to be more inclusive on multiple levels.
In addition, homophobia has diverse roots, so being more aware of thedifferent biases and anxieties behind its expressions can be key to challeng-ing it and to challenging transphobia and other forms of exclusion as well.Even in the midst of thinking about bias and ensuring a fully educationalresponse, there is a danger in letting homophobia define how and why les-sons on sexual minorities are included in school. Institutional and legal re-strictions have shaped the lives of sexual minority people, yet it would be avast oversimplification to say that is the only reality of their lives. Sexuality,as discussed in Chapter 1, has a long and varied history-indeed historiesof identities and subjectivities may bear little resemblance to the categoriesby which we currently define sexual identity. As much as those communitiesand identity formations were related to restrictions on individuals' ability tolive, they nonetheless formed cultures and associations, and-like other mi-norities living in a cultural context shaped by bias-reshaped their worlds.Tactically, it may be possible to convince people who initially do not wantto include sexual minority issues in schooling that to do so would helpaddress the risks that LGBTQ students face. However, we also need to becareful not to frame LGBTQ issues as only risk or deficit ones. We need toprovide the opportunity to examine the positive aspects of LGBTQ commu-nities and cultures and the abilities of sexuality and gender diverse people tolive lives beyond institutional constraints.
This section really made me think about how LGBTQ topics are often framed around danger, risk, or trauma. While those realities are important, it's limiting if that’s all we focus on. I like how the reading reminds us that LGBTQ communities also have resilience, joy, and rich cultural histories. Including those aspects in education helps move the conversation from tolerance to genuine respect.
ithout addressing the deep cultural, political, and historical obstaclesto educating LGBTQ people and educating about them, progress towardrespectful education and justice will be only halfhearted at best. Whilesome religious traditions may be the root of some cultural disapproval ofhomosexuality, most religious traditions do not require their adherents todemand doctrinal discipline from those outside their faith tradition. Giventhe pervasiveness of homophobia even among people who do not groundtheir discomfort in religious traditions, it is clear that other anxieties alsomotivate discomfort about minority sexualities and gender identities.Many religious denominations are very supportive of sexual and genderminorities. Consequently, the tendency to blame religion for homopho-bia and transphobia is an oversimplification. Denominations supportiveof sexual and gender minorities include the Metropolitan CommunityChurch, Reform Judaism, Hinduism, United Church of Christ, Society ofFriends (Quakers), and Unitarianism, as well as segments of the Episcopaland Lutheran churches. Individual congreg
I appreciate how this section pushes back against the idea that religion is always to blame for homophobia. It’s a much more complex issue. The text points out that many faiths—and even specific congregations—actually support LGBTQ people. That really matters, because assuming all religion is anti-LGBTQ erases the diversity within those communities and ignores other sources of prejudice.
SEXUALITY, NORMALCY, AND INTERSECTING DIFFERENCES
This section really opened my eyes to how sexuality and gender can't be separated from race, class, or culture. I was especially struck by the point that homophobia is often used to police all students—not just LGBTQ ones—by forcing them to conform to narrow gender roles. It also challenges the idea that LGBTQ identities are “Western” or don’t belong to other cultural traditions. It made me realize how important it is to see identity as layered and intersectional.
hile Thorne (1993) argues that young people's play opens the pos-sibilities of ambiguities in meanings of gender and sexuality, giving spacefor young girls to be athletic or boys to sit at the "girls"' table or play inthe "girls'" area of the playground, she also shows that such occasions ofplayful attempts to cross the gender divide can be met with hostility and thatteasing can cross over the line of play and into harassment
I appreciate how Thorne doesn’t romanticize play as always liberating. It’s interesting that even when kids try to break gender norms in small ways, like where they sit or who they play with, they can still face pushback or teasing. It shows how early social pressure kicks in and how fragile that space for gender flexibility really is.
In her book Gender Play: Girls and Boys at School, Barrie Thorne (1993)examines how and why gender comes to have salience in young people'sschool experiences. Practices like having elementary students line up bygender or organizing teams of boys against girls, she argues, highlight theimportance of gender differences to young students at a time when theyalso are working through different ways of being gendered themselves.Concerned that the institutional culture of schools not only creates rigidideas about gender but also pits one gender against the other, she suggeststhat adults in schools consider more carefully the messages about genderthat even simple practices, like making gender-based small groups or en-couraging gender-segregated play, convey to young people. Thorne showstoo that gender salience ebbs and flows, and that students understand andrework the gender binary messages they receive. Even ~s her ':"ork pushes usto think beyond simple questions about what ge~der 1s ~nd '.nsread look athow and why gender differences emerge in particular s1tuat1ons, her work37
really made me think about how something as simple as lining up by gender sends subtle but powerful messages to kids. We often assume these routines are harmless, but they actually shape how children see themselves and each other. I like how she emphasizes that gender isn’t fixed—it shifts depending on the context, and students are actively interpreting and resisting these norms.
Drawing on theories discussing gender as a process, homophobia, and intcr-sectionality, this chapter examines the pervasiveness of heteronormativityand the varieties of queerness to help readers understand where bias comesfrom, as well as be attuned to differences in the experiences of gender di-verse, creative, and/or nonconforming students and/or sexual minority stu-dents. Looking at the roots of homophobia in bias against gender diversitywill help link homophobia to transphobia and sexism as well. Examiningsexuality as racialized and gendered, in turn, will illuminate differences inexperiences of sexual minority students across diverse identities and providea fuller understanding of how race structures sexuality. This chapter willhelp readers understand the theories of gender, sexuality, and race rha t haveinfluenced writing and research on LGBTQ students as we
This introduction makes it clear that understanding gender and sexuality in schools isn't just about identity—it’s also about power and systems. I think it's really important how the chapter connects homophobia with broader structures like sexism and racism. It shows that these biases aren’t isolated but deeply connected, and understanding them requires looking at how identities intersect.